


when the silence gets too loud, i feel you calling me home

by dawningofdrag



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Angst, Exes, F/F, Lesbian AU, meeting post-breakup, they are hurting sad and confused your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawningofdrag/pseuds/dawningofdrag
Summary: Rosé doesn’t know why her drunk self somehow still manages to crawl back to her, but she does. It’s the third time it happens in the span of two weeks, and she's extremely humiliated by the questionable choice when the late morning comes, and Denali isn’t even supposed to pick up.But she does. She always does and maybe that’s why Rosé keeps calling her.
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	when the silence gets too loud, i feel you calling me home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PuddlemereUnited](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddlemereUnited/gifts).



> puddle requested this on tumblr and because they are a dear and a sucker for angst, i tried my best !! these two are a joy to write so i hope you enjoy!! even if its sad lmao rip
> 
> title from the city - ella jane
> 
> cw alcohol mention. nothing too out there, but better safe than sorry !

Nothing is more deafening than the beep of a car as it’s engines turn off. The heavy silence that sits uncomfortably on your shoulders, paired with the eeriness of the early hours of the morning, streets barren and dark, nothing but the occasional gust of wind grazing against the rolled up tinted car windows. It creeps up on you the longer you sit in it, soaking the carpets and drowning you in it’s heavy tension before you give in and open the door to finally breathe again. Rosé absolutely hates the feeling, despises it even, but she keeps finding herself in it again and again. 

Rosé is cold, _ really _ cold, bare legs and arms wrapped by a blanket she knew from experience Denali kept in her backseat. The cold midwestern air causes her teeth to chatter and a shiver to run up her spine despite the old car’s desperate attempt at heating up the interior, forcing her to shake off the bitter temperature that plagues her skin. She winces at the migraine already creeping into the innervations of her mind, the four vodka sodas she had downed an hour ago losing its effect on her usually fleeting mind and allowing the thoughts she initially drank away to resurface and come back at full force. She keeps finding herself in a situation where she needs saving, sitting on the sticky pavement outside the bar she frequents unable to take three steps more, like a damsel in distress waiting to be saved from the strangers trying to give her a ride home and her phone running on three percent. 

This is the third time Rosé finds herself like this. Drunk and incoherent and panicking as she runs through a mental list of people who wouldn’t hate her if she called them up at four in the morning to pick her up at a bar in the middle of town on a weekend. There’s Olivia who’d probably even offer to walk her to her apartment door, Lagoona who’d tell her off the whole ride home, and Jan who though is always up to help, is so bad at driving she’d throw up before she even got to her apartment. Rosé scrolls through all the eligible options that litter her contacts, but somehow from the moment she opens her near-dead phone to the second she ends the call she finds herself blacking out, finding herself waiting for Denali’s Prius with that tiny dent in the rear end and her stupid pride bumper sticker they had bought on a trip to New Orleans three years ago. 

She doesn’t know why her drunk self somehow still manages to crawl back to her, but she does. It’s the third time it happens in the span of two weeks, and she is extremely humiliated by the questionable choice when the late morning comes, and Denali isn’t even supposed to pick up. But she does. She always does and maybe that’s why Rosé keeps calling her.

Every single time she calls her name through the heavy bass blasting through the club or with the echo of the dirty bathroom stalls, she answers her call like she’s been waiting for it and is by the front door of whatever club she finds herself in in fifteen minutes. It’s how Rosé keeps ending up in Denali’s passenger seat with goosebumps wrapping around her pale arms, worn and thin fleece blanket haphazardly covering her legs. 

“You don’t have to keep picking me up, you know.”

Rosé attempts to cut the tense silence that suffocates the dark interior of the younger girl’s car, the lacking sound of a running engine causing the ringing in her ears to grow in volume. Her green eyes don’t even dare look to her left to meet the blonde’s heavy gaze, knowing just how well it’ll break her if she does. The tension rises to her feet, soles of her stiletto heels sticking on the rubber carpet and planting themselves there. Rosé feels as if she had been glued to her seat, arm not even daring to reach for the door handle. So many questions accompany her growing headache, mind begging for answers as if her life depended on it, but she decides against it.

“I know,” Denali mutters under her breath along with a dragged exhale, cutting her train of thought short. The blonde glances at her lap before her eyes shoot back up to look at the empty road in front of them, bare lips pursed like she has to hold back. “I just wanted to.”

The second half of her statement does nothing to ease the overbearing thoughts that are slowly eating Rosé alive. The restraint she has to practice on herself starts to prick her legs, the flooding tension that wants to swallow her whole reaches up to her calves and causing an unsettling feeling to make itself comfortable in her stomach. She wants to scream, meet the younger girl’s dark eyes and cup her cheeks, let the tears she cries in the comfort of her bedroom finally run free down her face as she begs for the answers to her questions she can never seem to figure out.  _ Why do you keep picking me up when I call? Why do you still help me after everything I’ve done? Why do you still look at me when I can’t even look at you? _

The uncomfortable feeling that plagues her soul rises up to her chest, filling her lungs and taking her hands and threatening to pull her under. She picks on the chipped nail polish that paints her fingers, projecting that ever growing anxiety onto the bright colors that glow under the warm yellow car light. Rosé feels the younger woman’s kind eyes bear holes into the side of her face, and it almost drives her mad. The silence rings in her ears like a siren until the deafening sound is stopped with the simple whisper of her name, finally mustering up the courage to push her past the boundary she had been teetering off of. 

“Rosie-”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still love me.”

“I _ don’t _ .”

Denali purses her lips the second the words slip out of her mouth, knuckles turning white as her tan fingers wrap tight around the steering wheel. Rosé watches intently with tired eyes, the sinking feeling crawling up to her shoulders, grazing her neck, finally swallowing her whole. The lump on her throat grows in size, words that so desperately want to roll off of her red stained lips suffocate and trip over each other in an attempt to escape, and yet not one does. 

Rosé knows what Denali looks like when she’s thinking. When the gears in her head are turning at a rapid speed she could never keep up with. She catches the subtle twitching of her bare pale lips and her dead set gaze on the uninteresting scene playing out past the windshields, the heavy anticipation aching each muscle in her body crawling closer and closer to her pain threshold. Her body begs for more than those two stupid words she refuses to accept are true, arms tempted to reach out and take her hand and tell her about how she’s realized how much she still needs her-

The blonde leans over to her side of the car, hand reaching out to unlock the door on her side. She doesn’t even give her a glance as she sits back in her chair, back relaxing against the grey nylon-covered cushions of the driver’s seat.

“I  _ can’t _ , okay?” Denali chokes out, and Rosé could barely make out the glossy sheen that accompanies her defeated gaze. “Just- get out of my car.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to request prompts (or just chat/hit me up!) on tumblr @dawningofdrag <3


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